


before we fell, like icarus, undone

by sakurablossomcreamlatte



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dipper Pines Needs A Hug, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Mabel is a Good Sister, Mild Language, Post-Episode: s02e04 Sock Opera, Stan Pines Swearing, Stan is a good uncle but he's still Stan, let me just add my contribution to this pile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25806127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakurablossomcreamlatte/pseuds/sakurablossomcreamlatte
Summary: "Not even gonna ask." - Grunkle Stan, season 2 episode 4: "Sock Opera"Stan has some questions, but he knows he won't always get the answers he wants.(aka, I like many others have feelings about the aftermath of Sock Opera and here they are)
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 26
Kudos: 200





	before we fell, like icarus, undone

**Author's Note:**

> I get sidetracked too often, but I also had the idea 'what if they did take Dipper to hospital like he asked and after getting checked out he was a bit loopy and thought he was still a sock puppet' and... here we are
> 
> but also for everything that's happened in Gravity Falls, Dipper and Mabel are only 12 and I think about this a lot.

“Seriously, you two can go on home,” Stan tells Wendy and Soos for the second time in about an hour. “My family, my problem.” 

Wendy shrugs. “I left my bike at the Shack anyway, so…”

It occurs to Stan that he actually has no idea what kind of dumb teenage shenanigans Wendy and her friends get up to when she’s off the clock - and if she’s anything like he was at the age of fifteen, they’re probably not the smartest or safest - but there’s still no way he’s comfortable letting her bike home through the woods of Gravity Falls in the middle of the night, even if she has grown up among them and knows them like the back of her hand… not to mention her freaky lumberjack genes and axe-wielding skills. Even in spite of all that, this town’s weirdness is dangerous, and almost definitely more so after dark. “Soos, when you get to the Shack - put Wendy’s bike in your truck bed and give her a ride home, alright?” 

“Sure thing, Mr. Pines,” Soos gives him a salute. “But really, we don’t mind hanging out. Just wanna make sure the little dude’s okay, y’know?” 

“I’m with Soos,” Wendy agrees. “Even before…” she trails off, gesturing into the air, “...all of this, he was acting, like, _really_ weird earlier.” 

A wave of appreciation swells in Stan’s chest for them both. They’ve already spent the whole week helping Mabel with her insane puppet opera project, and now they’ve been here at the clinic waiting for nearly three hours with them just to make sure Dipper’s alright. Soos had even carried the kid out to the car himself, masterfully ignoring his weak attempts at struggling free and repeated pleas of, “seriously man, you can put me down!”

And yet, it’s not even really a shock for Stan to realise that his two employees have somehow managed to get just as attached to the adorable little shits as he has. 

“Dipper’s tougher than he looks,” Mabel says, although there’s a clear edge in her voice and her hair is tangled from where she’s been twirling it around her fingers for the last twenty minutes. She was in fairly good humour when they arrived, considering the circumstances, but the longer they’ve been waiting without any news the more outwardly nervous she’s become. “He just needs a nice, long nap. They’re probably just… checking him all over.” She looks up at Stan, and the worried pull of her eyebrows above her big brown eyes is a little unsettling. It doesn’t look right on her. “Right, Grunkle Stan?” 

“Uh… yeah.” Stan puts an arm around his niece, drawing her in a bit closer - and he can feel how tense she is, her little shoulders and back tight with anxiety, and he can’t help but wonder if it’s anything to do with that crazy fight they had. He’s also wondering why it’s taking so long himself - Gravity Falls only has the one small emergency clinic on the edge of town, and there aren’t many doctors, but it’s pretty quiet for a Friday night. “I’m sure he’s fine, honey. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” 

Inwardly, Stan’s kicking himself. He’d just assumed the kids were being their usual kooky selves - and Dipper’s so goddamn stubborn anyway, it’s impossible for Stan to stop him from staying up all night with his head buried in that godforsaken journal or one of his mystery novels unless he gets Soos to forcibly duct tape him to his bed or something. If the kid insists on having the experience of all-nighters before he even starts high school, let him find out first-hand how shitty it feels the next morning. He’ll burn himself out and then pass out snoring the next night, half-slumped across Stan’s lap in front of the TV - like he does most of the times he stays up past ten-thirty.

It hadn’t occurred to him that this particular instance might go deeper than that until they were all hanging around like idiots in the aftermath of Mabel blowing up the main auditorium of Gravity Falls's own Theatre Time Theater. 

_“Yeesh,” Stan mutters, looking around at the smoking seats and the sparking wreck of the spotlights on the stage. “We’d better get out of here before management notices.”_

_“Grunkle Stan, I really need a doctor,” Dipper protests as he staggers out of the wings, back in his shorts and t-shirt and now swaying on his feet. There are a couple of deep scratches on his face, and a mark on his cheekbone - probably from where Mabel whacked him with his own journal during the surprise onstage fight - that’s definitely showing up as a bruise tomorrow. Mabel just grins and affectionately shoves his shoulder with her sock puppet, and Dipper clutches his arm with a vague noise of distress._

_“Hah, c’mon, slugger,” Stan laughs, popping the tape out of the video recorder and slipping it into his pocket. He hadn't been expecting it, but it had made the whole thing way more entertaining - plus the kids actually did a pretty good job of making it look convincing. “No need to be dramatic, the show’s over. We’ll take you home and get some ice on ya, alright?”_

_Dipper groans, takes a step - and abruptly pitches forward, and Soos rushes to catch him before he lands flat on his face. “Woah, dude!”_

_“Dipper, are you okay?!” Wendy’s there in a flash, dropping to one knee to get a better look at the kid - who’s slumped against Soos’s side, expression pained._

_“My head hurts,” Dipper mumbles into Soos’s T-shirt. Soos quickly hooks an arm under Dipper’s legs, lifting him with ease despite his protests and the way he weakly smacks one of his noodle arms against the handyman’s chest in an impaired attempt to push him away. Wendy straightens up and touches a hand to the back of Dipper’s head - and when her fingertips come away stained with red, she turns to Stan with an expression of genuine alarm._

_Stan’s stomach drops and crashes into his wingtip shoes, and judging from the expression on her face Mabel’s experiencing something similar._

_“...yeah, okay,” he tries to keep his voice steady - for Mabel, if not for himself, but he’s already fumbling for his car keys. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to get you checked out.”_

Over the top of Mabel’s precious little head, Stan shoots a glare at his other two employees and hopes that they get the message - and judging by the way they shrink back a little, they probably do.

It’s about another twenty minutes before a woman wearing a white coat over blue scrubs emerges from around the corner - a doctor. “Pines?” 

Stan’s immediately on his feet, Mabel rushing after him as he approaches her. “I’m his uncle, and...” Mabel looks up at them both with those big, imploring brown eyes of hers, “...this here’s his sister. He alright?” 

“More or less,” the doctor lifts a page on the clipboard. “He clearly hasn’t been getting enough sleep, but his wrist isn’t broken and the other injuries are mostly superficial. I was more concerned about the cut on the back of his head since he wasn’t particularly alert and he mentioned feeling ill, but it doesn’t look like he’s concussed either - although he’s definitely hit it pretty hard off something.” With this, she folds the clipboard closed and tucks it under her arm. “We did administer a mild sedative to keep him relaxed during the scan, but it should be wearing off around now. We’ll monitor him for the next few hours to make sure he doesn’t have any adverse reactions, but after that you can probably take him home - provided you keep a close eye on him, of course.”

“Can we see him?” Mabel asks, clinging to Stan’s sleeve anxiously. 

“Of course,” the doctor says, and Stan turns back to Wendy and Soos, who are on their feet and watching him expectantly. 

“Just wait for now, yeah? I’ll let you know if he’s up for visitors.”

“I’m afraid visiting hours have already ended,” the doctor points out, and Stan curses internally. 

“Look, these two are…” oh God, he’s really going to have to say it. He leans forward, dropping his voice as low as possible, “...kinda… like family, okay? They’ve been waitin’ here for hours with us ‘cause they’re that worried about him. Can ya help us out?” 

The woman considers for a moment, then sighs. “If anyone else asks you, they’re adopted.” 

Wendy and Soos share a glance, and nod as they sit back down. Stan turns back to the doctor, who tilts her head to the left. “Right this way.” 

She leads them through the double doors and down the hall until they reach a room with four beds, three of them unoccupied and stripped of sheets. Dipper is dozing in the one on the left hand side by the window, still in his shorts and T-shirt and haphazardly covered with a blue blanket. Apart from the gauze bandages around his arm and wrist and the monitor clip attached to his hand, he looks more or less like he does whenever he falls asleep in Stan’s armchair at the Shack, face squished against the pillow with his mouth slightly open and one arm across his stomach. 

Mabel immediately makes a beeline for her brother - “Dipper!” - and somehow manages to stop just short of flinging herself at him. Instead, she restrains herself to leaning on the edge of the mattress as she reaches a hand out to grab his, and her other hand moves up to pet his hair. “Hey, broseph, are you okay? It’s me, Mabel, your sister, I’m here with you. How do you feel? Can you hear me? Does your -”

“Give him some space, pumpkin,” Stan says, placing his hands on his niece’s shoulders and gently pulling her back before focusing his attention on his nephew. Dipper really doesn’t look good - hair sticking up at odd angles against the pillow, huge shadows under his eyes and scratches everywhere - and Stan can only wonder what the hell he’s been doing all week instead of sleeping... and how he hadn’t noticed it properly before. “Uh… hey, kiddo.” He can’t tell if Dipper’s even remotely awake enough to hear him. “How, uh… how ya feelin’?” 

Silence follows… but after a minute or so, clouded brown eyes gradually slide open to stare up at Mabel and Stan, squinting in confusion. Dipper blinks hazily, still trying to place himself as his fingers slowly, reflexively clasp around his sister’s - and after a solid five to ten seconds of effort, he manages to mumble something that sounds vaguely like ‘Mmmeyb’l’. 

“That’s right, brobro, it’s me, Mabel,” the girl in question tells him encouragingly, her fingers continuing to brush through his hair. The pink lines of his birthmark peek through the tousled fluff of his fringe. “And look,” she scoots aside, and Stan leans in a little closer as Dipper tilts his head and ends up staring straight past him with those creepily glazed-over eyes. He looks even worse up close, and Stan wonders what the hell he’s going to say to the kids’ mom when she calls for her fortnightly check-in on Sunday… and how he’s going to get the story straight with Mabel. _Great work, Stan, you played a blinder here._ “Grunkle Stan’s here too, see?” 

This is where it gets weird. With a vaguely distressed-sounding grunt, Dipper manages to pull his hand free from Mabel’s - and the expression of surprise and hurt that flits across her sweet little face doesn’t go unnoticed by Stan, either - and then lifts his bandaged forearm, unsteadily propped up by his elbow resting on the mattress, and his hand waves awkwardly in the air. 

“He’s... wavin’ at us...?” Stan can’t keep the bewilderment out of his voice. “Guess he is under the influence… hey, Dips,” he lifts his own hand in an equally awkward attempt at a wave. “Yeah, we’re here, see? How’s about you -”

Mabel’s hurt expression has now transitioned to one of confusion. “Um, Dipper....”

Dipper’s hand starts - flapping? fingers and thumb opening and closing as he finally speaks. “Mabel… Gr’nkle Stan…” 

Mabel’s hand stills against his hair, and her eyes widen. “Sock puppet…”

“Uh… whatcha doin’ there, buddy?” Stan ventures. Normally he’s fine with children and their weird quirks, and he can understand that Dipper’s pretty out of it at the moment and Mabel doesn't make sense even on a normal day, but he still can’t figure out the kid’s angle here.

“Puppet,” Dipper explains, closing his eyes as his head lolls to the side, and it’s clear that he’s making an effort to enunciate his words properly. “Have to use... a vessel…” his eyes open again, still glassy and struggling to focus, “...or you can’t hear me.” His hand moves the entire time he’s talking, fingers waving up and down, and the overall effect is… bizarre. Hell, it would already be weird enough under normal circumstances. “Mindscape. I’m, like… a ghost.” 

_Mindscape._ It's... not familiar, exactly, but somewhere deep down Stan knows he's come across that term before. 

Stan stares. The beat-up, exhausted mess of a kid in front of them looks pretty corporeal to him, and he reaches a hand out to take Dipper’s skinny wrist. “Nah, you’re not, kid.” He squeezes - carefully - and Dipper stares up at him in surprise. “You seem real enough to me, anyway.” He looks down at Mabel, who’s gazing at her brother with something that looks like… a mixture of dismay and sympathy, if he had to guess. “Mabel, you’re the Dipper expert round here. What’s your opinion?” 

“Uh… yep!” Mabel recovers her composure quickly, plastering on a grin as she pokes her brother’s scratched-up cheeks - and he stares back at her with wide eyes. “No sock puppets here.” She makes a raspberry noise. “You’re one hundred percent genuine authentic Dippingsauce!” 

Stan’s witnessed a lot of awkward and vaguely distressing events in his life, but what happens next still leaves him at a loss for words. He was half expecting the kid to say something else weird, giggle, maybe _finally_ crash out - _seriously, how is he still conscious?_ \- but instead, Dipper starts...

...crying _._

The tears well in the corners of his eyes as a strangled noise pushes its way from the back of his throat - and then it breaks, his little face screwing up as the sobs grow deeper, more guttural… and the tears just keep coming. They slide down his cheeks and drip into the starched bedding beneath him as he curls in on himself, chest and shoulders heaving with each convulsive gasp. Stan has to remind himself that the kid’s sleep deprived and dosed up and in an unfamiliar place, and he’s probably just confused and scared - but his cries are filled with genuine anguish, or maybe relief, Stan doesn’t even know what - and he doesn’t know what to say, either. 

“Aw, Dipper!” Mabel coos, pulling her brother into her arms - and Dipper’s arm finally drops, instead entwining with his sister’s as he sobs and desperately clings to her like she’s a life ring in a turbulent sea. “It’s okay! It’s all over now, you’re safe...”

The thought surfaces before Stan can push it away. _Safe from what?_

“I was s-s-so s-scared, Mabel,” Dipper wails, burying his face in Mabel’s sweater as she pets his hair soothingly. “I th-thought I was g-g-gonna b-be a s-s-sock p-puppet forever…!”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Mabel reassures him, pressing her cheek to the top of his head as he draws shallow, shuddering breaths and his grip tightens on her sleeve. “Never ever ever.” 

Stan still has absolutely no idea what the hell is going on here, but resigns himself to playing along as he slides an arm around his nephew’s heaving shoulders. “Nah, you’re still you, ya gremlin. It’s okay. You’re here with us, see?” He reaches his other hand up to ruffle Dipper’s hair as gently as he possibly can - the kid’s head probably hurts. “Totally real - real annoying, that is.” 

  
Dipper just clutches at Stan’s jacket with his tiny fist, caught between him and Mabel, and cries even harder. The gesture conveys fear, desperation, a basic desire to be protected and comforted. It’s unexpectedly childlike, and Stan feels a surge of affection and sympathy for him - and his sister, too, who’s still holding him close as she murmurs nonsensical comforts into his ear. 

“Easy, Dips. You’re okay, we’ve gotcha,” Stan mutters, unsure of what else to say as he moves his hand to rub circles on his nephew’s back and tries to ignore how much this leaning position is making his own hurt. Seeing behaviour like this from Dipper is still... jarring, for one thing - he vaguely remembers being on the cusp of teenagerhood himself, wanting to just be taken seriously in fights - and he sees it reflected back at him every day in Dipper’s obsession with that damn journal, his dedication to uncovering the town’s secrets and the stars in his eyes whenever he’s around Wendy. The kid spends so much time trying to get ahead of himself that the rare occasions he does act his age are… 

... _discombobulating_. The word comes to Stan from somewhere distant, trapped between the pages of another book. One that he’s spent a long time looking at. 

_Yeah. That’s definitely a word he’d use._

With his other arm - and a sigh - Stan helps Mabel hoist herself onto the mattress, and awkwardly perches himself on the edge of it to let Dipper bury himself between the two of them as seemingly every emotion held within in his tiny form tears itself from his heaving chest, anguished sobs rending the sterile air as he continues to cry. 

_“I’ll let you hold on to that spooky journal, as long as you promise me you’ll only use it for self-defence and not go lookin' for trouble.”_

These aren’t the tears of someone who’s just feeling a bit loopy and confused. They’re the tears of a child who was genuinely terrified. 

_Kid,_ Stan wonders with a sick, twisting feeling in his stomach as he pulls Dipper in a little closer, _what in the hell have you been defending yourself from?_

He wants to ask. He almost wants to tear the journal from Dipper’s (metaphorical, right now) sweaty little hands, lock both of them in the attic of the Shack and never let them venture into that goddamn cursed forest again…

...but that’s probably a conversation for another day, and it won’t be an easy one. The kid’s stubborn - he’s a Pines. 

Not to mention that the scheming little twits would definitely find a way to break out. 

It takes a while, but once the sobs have quietened down to the occasional hiccup, Stan finally decides that there’s enough snot on his jacket for the time being and gently extricates himself from the Pines tangle. 

“So... how’s about I go get Wendy and Soos, huh? They’ve been out there waitin’ with us the whole time.” 

Dipper - still clinging to Mabel - sniffles, nods, and Stan pats his shoulder again before making his way out of the room. As soon as he re-enters the relatively quiet waiting area, Soos and Wendy are immediately on their feet. 

“Squirt’s fine,” he tells them, and Soos’s big shoulders visibly slump in relief while Wendy just exhales. “He's awake, but - whatever they drugged him with - he's actin' kinda... cuckoo. Thinks he’s... a ghost, or a... sock puppet or somethin’?” He raises a hand helplessly. “I dunno. There were tears.” 

Soos just nods sagely. “I’ve seen it before.”

Stan decides not to ask him to elaborate.

Beside Soos, Wendy cocks her head questioningly. “But we can still see him, right?” 

Stan’s already turning to head back to the room, and he simply waves a hand to beckon them. 

When they enter the room, Mabel’s sitting exactly where Stan left her on the edge of the bed, and Dipper’s half-curled on his side underneath the blanket - but at the sight of the two remaining Shack employees, he lifts his head. His eyes and the tip of his nose are still pink.

“Hey, Dipper,” Soos greets, as Wendy perches on the edge of the mattress next to Mabel and carefully scruffs his hair. “How you holdin’ up?”

Dipper just stares up at them, sleepy expression shifting from relieved to cautious. “You guys can... see me, right...?” 

“Yeah, dawg,” Soos tells him, holding a hand up. “Wanna high five? That’s, like, the number one way to prove you’re not a ghost.”

Dipper clumsily works his arm free from the blanket and lifts his hand unsteadily, and Soos gently smacks his palm against it with a grin. “Yep - you’re definitely real, dude.” 

“Can you feel this?” Wendy asks him, reaching back over to brush his fringe aside and trace a finger along the main line of his birthmark, and Dipper hums his assent. Stan has to force himself to hold back a laugh at the almost-dopey smile of sheer relief on his nephew’s face, and Wendy just smiles back at him affectionately. “See, there ya go. You’re okay, man.”

“One hundred percent not sock puppet, confirmed,” Soos adds. 

“Congratulations, Dipper,” Mabel beams, leaning over to hug him again - and Dipper gladly accepts, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders. “You’re a real boy. Like Pinocchio!” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Dipper murmurs, a hint of his usual snark peeking through the drowsiness, but it’s at odds with the way he pulls Mabel in a little closer.

“Real knucklehead, I’ll tell you that much,” Stan says, leaning on the siderail near his nephew’s head. “Listen - Dips, look at me,” and Dipper does, shifting his head to stare up at him with eyes that are thankfully a bit clearer than before. Clarity seems to be making its way back to him quickly enough, and that alone brings the faint hope that they can hurry it up a bit and get him out of here - they’re probably charging by the minute. “Don’t do anything like that again, alright? You have any idea how much healthcare costs in this stupid country?”

_You have any idea how much you scared me?_

“...I'm sorry, Grunkle Stan.” Dipper averts his gaze. "I didn't mean for this to happen." 

His nephew looks genuinely remorseful, and Stan can’t help the rush of affection that flows through him again. These kids might be insufferable gremlins - but they’re _his_ insufferable gremlins now, and he feels another momentary wave of gratitude towards their parents for being willing to share them with him. For Dipper especially, the cool, aloft skepticism and sometimes outright disdain he’d hidden so poorly at the start of the summer has long since melted away to reveal a genuine affection for Gravity Falls - and for Stan himself, he can tell, and his own appreciation for the kid has only bloomed in turn. It wasn’t so obvious at the start, but Stan can see a lot of the scrappy, smart-ass kid he used to be in his nephew. For so long he’d convinced himself that the only way to toughen Dipper up was to be an ass to him - like his own father was - but now, looking at him curled up under the blanket with Mabel and Wendy and Soos at his side, more than anything he just feels the urge to reassure him and be glad he’s alright.

Even if the little shit only has himself to blame for staying up for nights on end and then letting his sister beat him up in front of half the town - and that’s not something Stan would have put past his younger self to do, either. He’s twelve - he’s still in the semi-acceptable zone for being a dumbass.

Not that you could even tell, looking at the way Mabel’s hanging on to Dipper now - and the way he’s looking back at her like she’s the moon and all the stars in the sky, the entire galaxy. How he always does. 

A wave of longing tainted with the hatefully dark miasma of hopelessness rises in Stan’s heart, and he does his best to mentally shove it away as he sighs and waves a hand. “Forget it, kid. The way you’re feeling right now is probably punishment enough.” 

Dipper shifts as Mabel finally, carefully pulls away, and grimaces. “Agreed.” He yawns, and Stan glances at his watch - past eleven. Outside the window, the street lights cast a sallow orange glow over the parking lot beneath an inky black sky. He clears his throat. 

“Alright - Wendy, Soos.” The two in question look up. “You’ve seen him, he’s gonna live, it’s late. You should both probably be gettin’ on home. You’ve still got work tomorrow.” 

“Oh - right.” Turning back to Dipper, Soos holds out his fist, and Dipper bumps it. “Night, dude. Rest easy.” 

“We’ll check up on you tomorrow,” Wendy adds. She takes the edge of the blanket and pulls it back over his shoulders as she stands up, before gently ruffling his hair. “Movie night if you’re still up for it, okay? But only if you actually get some sleep first.” 

Dipper smiles gratefully at them both, worn but sincere. “Thanks.” 

The two turn to leave, but as they reach the door Wendy turns back. “Actually, Stan, I think I left Dipper’s stuff in Soos’s truck. Can you come and open your car?” 

Stan groans, glancing at the twins. Dipper’s still quiet, seemingly hovering on the edge of consciousness at this point, and Mabel just looks at him innocently with those big eyes of hers as she swings her legs on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, alright.” 

Out in the parking lot, few words are exchanged between them as Soos opens his truck and Wendy reaches into the footwell of the passenger seat, withdrawing a bundle that looks like Dipper’s vest and hat - and the gentle weight contained in it as Stan accepts it suggests that the journal is tucked inside. He unwraps the vest, and there it is, with the gold six-fingered hand on the front catching the light from the lamps overhead. 

“You ever seen them fight like that before?” Wendy asks, out of nowhere. “Mabel socked him with the journal pretty good.” 

“I haven’t,” Soos says. “They’re always, like… best friends. I thought it was, like, special twin powers.” 

All the air leaves Stan's lungs. "You mean..." But those two get along so well. That cold, sick, twisting feeling has settled in the pit of his stomach again. "That wasn't part of the show?" 

"What?" Wendy looks bewildered. "No, it was supposed to be, like... The Notebook, but with sock puppets. I'm pretty sure it didn't involve the real-life heroine and the reverend beating the crap out of each other."

"A tale equally tragic," Soos comments sorrowfully, but it goes unacknowledged. 

"I...." for the second time tonight, Stan's at a loss for words. "I had no idea. I mean - I’ve seen ‘em bicker about this ‘n’ that, but…” he hefts the journal in one hand. It’s not particularly light, and he thinks of how the mark on Dipper’s cheekbone is already starting to darken. “Dipper's already grumpy enough on a full night's sleep, and I guess Mabel took it for her show without askin’ him first. The kid's obsessed with this thing, and he can get pretty vicious if you piss him off enough.” 

But then why the hell would Dipper volunteer to play the reverend? So he could keep an eye on the thing and make sure Mabel didn't set it on fire?

“Still seems off, though,” Soos comments. “He’s pretty obsessed with Mabel, too. He wouldn’t wanna hurt her.”

Stan’s now wondering the same thing - _seriously, what the actual hell?!_ \- but he shrugs with a deliberately nonchalant air as he unlocks his own car and dumps the items in the front seat. The kids seem fine now, and he wants it to stay that way. “They wouldn’t be siblings if they didn’t blow up at each other every now and then, y’know? Seems like they’re mostly made up now, anyway."

"That's true," Wendy admits with a shrug, as Soos nods thoughtfully. "I guess they just needed some perspective." 

"Somethin' like that. But, uh, anyway....” Stan hesitates, unsure of how to voice his gratitude without sounding like a complete sap, and the two look at him expectantly. “Uh... it's been a pretty weird night, so - thanks. For - y’know. Bein’ here.” 

Soos salutes again, opening the driver door as Wendy slides into the passenger seat. “Always, Mr. Pines.” 

“Don’t sweat it, Stan,” Wendy says. “Dipper and Mabel are our friends, too.” 

“Yeah, well.” Stan clears his throat again. “Uh - get home in one piece. And I’m still expectin’ you both on time tomorrow.” 

“Yes, sir.” Soos closes the door and starts the engine, and Stan watches as they pull out of the parking lot and head into the night. 

As he’s heading back inside, he encounters the doctor going over some paperwork at the reception desk. “Um, ‘scuse me…” she turns around, and he finally gets a proper look at her name tag - “Dr... Mahendran." He's probably said that completely wrong. "Any idea when I can take the little goofus home?” 

“The nurse just checked his vitals, and it all looks fine,” the woman says, absently writing in the margin of the form in front of her. “Probably within the next couple of hours.” 

For fuck's sake. Stan attempts to swallow his irritation. “Thanks.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And, uh… thanks for patchin’ him up. His sister was pretty worried.” _And so was I._

“He said he fell down the stairs,” and then she’s looking straight at him, and he can physically feel his skin crawl in response. Of course an injured child is going to raise suspicion. “I have to ask. Is that true?” 

Stan gulps. “Uh, look, Mabel - that's his sister - was puttin’ on some big play thing tonight, she’d been workin’ on it all week. He was fine this mornin’,” _\- "Bag check for Dipper’s eyes!”_ \- “I spent the whole afternoon with the other two tryin’ to tie all the set junk to the roof of my car, then they gave him a ride to the show. I didn’t see anythin’ was off until afterwards, and we brought him straight here.” Desperation claws at the inside of his chest. “Those kids - they’re really important to me. I dunno what happened, but I’m gonna have a talk with ‘em - but you gotta know, I’d never hurt ‘em. I swear.” 

The doctor just surveys him with her dark eyes, before she exhales and closes the clipboard. “I believe you, Mr. Pines, but - keep a close eye on him. For one thing, he definitely doesn’t sleep enough.” 

“Yeah... he’s a bit too obsessed with his books. Mysteries and whatnot, y’know - he’ll stay up all night with ‘em. Guess I’d better start crackin’ down about bedtime.” 

There’s a hint of sympathy in the smile she gives him. “I’ve had that argument, too.” With this, she tucks the clipboard under her arm. “Take care, Mr. Pines. And take care of them.” 

“I will.” And he means it. 

The doctor turns back to her paperwork, and Stan heads back to the room. As he reaches the doorway, he hears the sound of their voices - _seriously, how the hell is he still up?!_ \- low and cautious… but sometimes, his hearing aid proves itself useful, and he lingers by the door. 

“I’m so sorry, Dipper,” Mabel sounds sad, and downcast. “I was so caught up with stupid _Gabe_ that I didn’t even notice you were in trouble.” 

“You already said sorry,” Dipper’s voice is little more than a mumble, half-muffled by the pillow. “And I’m sorry, too. I mean, even if that guy totally didn’t deserve your play, you worked so hard and did so much and I just... totally ruined it.” 

“You already apologised,” Mabel reminds him. “And you still helped me with it, even after I promised I’d help you first, and -” 

“Alright, that’s enough.” Stan’s not here for a vicious apology cycle, and he holds a hand up as he re-enters the room. Dipper and Mabel both blink, turning their heads to stare at him as he approaches, and their twin gazes follow as he takes one of the chairs lined up against the window and drags it round to the other side of the bed, setting it in front of them and taking a seat. He needs at least one question answered tonight. “Not that it matters now, but - what were you two even fightin’ about, anyway?” 

The uncertain glance that the two share before they look back at Stan doesn’t escape his attention. “Um… Dipper was being a stupid-head?” Mabel ventures. “He said he’d be the reverend, and then he, like… changed his mind halfway through the show!” 

“Mabel took my journal without asking,” Dipper counters, although he’s too exhausted to show any real emotion. “And… she’d already said she’d help me with something else before that... _puppet_ weirdo came along, and then she totally went back on it.” There's a certain vitriol in his tone as he utters the word 'puppet'. 

There’s also a certain irony in Dipper calling someone else a weirdo, but Stan decides now’s not the appropriate time to comment. 

“So... that’s gonna make you mad enough to try and beat each other up in front of half of Gravity Falls?” 

“You know how cranky Dipper gets when he doesn’t sleep,” Mabel supplies by way of excuse. A flash of indignation crosses Dipper’s face for just a second, and then it’s gone just as quickly as he sighs and closes his eyes. 

“Dipper’s always cranky,” Stan points out, and Dipper opens his eyes again to scowl at him. “But seriously, kid, why the he- _heck_ ," he corrects himself just in time, “weren’t you sleepin’ in the first place?” 

He doesn't quite know how to broach the subject, but - _kid, if you've been having nightmares, trust me. I get it._

Dipper chews at his lower lip, averting his eyes. “I, um… didn’t notice how late it got,” he offers lamely. “The books I got out of the library were really… fascinating.” 

Stan sighs. He’s not convinced there isn’t something else going on here, but if he goes nuclear and grounds both kids indefinitely - and he’s sorely tempted - they’ll only resent him and act out even more, and earning back their trust will be a whole new mission that he really doesn’t have the time and energy for with everything he’s been working on in the basement. And there’s also that - the hypocrisy of the fact that he doesn’t want them to keep secrets from him, but he’s keeping the biggest secret of all. 

Mabel and Dipper think he’s someone else entirely. No matter how much he wants to protect them - and sweet Jesus, he does, ever since that one precious last day of summer when their dad carefully passed the two of them as newborns into his arms while the northern California sunset glowed rich and orange through the window behind him - there’s no way around that. If he wants them to continue trusting him - and for whatever they’re not willing to tell him, they obviously do - then he’s going to have to trust them as well…

...and hope that’s not damaged beyond repair when the truth finally comes out.

“Okay, fine. Just - Dipper, look at me,” again, Dipper does, and it’s clear he’s making an effort to keep his eyes open. “Just tell me one thing.” Stan inhales, exhales. “Was it anything to do with that creepy journal?” 

Dipper and Mabel share another glance, before Dipper meets his eyes again. There’s no hesitation, no waver as he holds Stan’s gaze. “No. It wasn’t.” 

Stan considers. His nephew’s too jittery to be a truly talented liar - he of all people would know - but there’s no nerves here, and his exhaustion’s probably stripped most of his inhibitions away at this point… so he has to reluctantly conclude that Dipper’s telling the truth. 

Then again, it’s not like the kid’s not smart enough to rationalise his way around it. 

_Trust, Stan. Trust._

“Alright, kid. I believe you. Just…” they look at him again, Mabel nonplussed and Dipper more than a little irritated. “You two know I just want you to be safe, alright?” They both soften a bit, and he continues. “I’m just sayin’, you gotta be careful what you’re gettin’ into. Don’t get me wrong, I know you’ve both toughened up a lot since you got here - but this,” he gestures to their surroundings, “wasn’t fun. For any of us.” 

“Definitely not,” Dipper mumbles resentfully, yawning as he curls a little further into the blanket. 

“We know, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel says, and the way she’s looking at him suggests that she does. “We get it.” 

“Good.” Stan glances at his watch - it’s nearly midnight now, and he’ll be damned if the staff are biding their time to keep Dipper long enough to charge for a full night. “Anyway, come on, goofus, girl goofus.” He stands, stretches a little, and winces as something _pops_ in his back. “Let’s get you home and into your own beds.” 

Except Dipper doesn’t hear him, because he’s already fallen asleep. Stan stares down at his nephew for a few moments, watching the gentle rise and fall of his little shoulders as he's finally lost to slumber. Beside him, Mabel looks on with an expression of... relief. 

Okay, then. 

Stan takes Dipper’s hand with the monitor clip attached, grasping his wrist gingerly as he fiddles with the thing - and after a bit of fumbling it comes off, and he tosses it aside. He pulls the blanket back and slides his arms under the kid as carefully as possible, hefting his weight with a slight ‘oof’ and another _pop_ in his back - for such a noodle, Dipper’s heavier than he looks - as he turns to face Mabel. He's had enough of hanging around, and he knows the kids have too. 

“Alright, sweetie." He grins conspiratorially at Mabel as he adjusts Dipper in his arms, holding him a little tighter as his niece hops down from the bed and looks up at him expectantly. "You ready to run?”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
